That One Time Dean Forgot Castiel's Hamburger
by despntiel
Summary: Just what the title says. A little fluff baby.


"Cas, come here," Dean groaned for what felt like the hundredth time, thumping the bed with his hand beside where he was sitting.

Castiel stayed motionless in the chair across the room, arms crossed and hard blue eyes staring at the far wall from underneath his furrowed eyebrows. His trench coat was falling off one of his shoulders where Dean had clawed at him before he angrily pushed the hunter away.

"Dude, I'm sorry I forgot your burger, okay? It's just one time, can you just –"

"_Just one time_?" Castiel hissed. "Have I ever forgotten your pie _just one time,_ Dean? Have I?"

The older Winchester rolled his eyes dramatically. "No, Cas, you never forgot the pie. But seriously, I can just go get you another –"

Castiel cut him off with a look that literally sent an icy cold shiver down his spine. "You cannot just go 'get me another' and pretend like this never happened. It's the _thought_ that counts, Dean. And you were obviously not thinking of me."

_When the hell did you become such a fucking girl? _Dean wanted to yell at the angel – which would probably just make Castiel even more mad, if that was possible – but instead he said, "You know I didn't mean it, Cas. You know me, I wasn't even thinking at all. 'Cause if I was, I would'a thought of you."

"Do not try to sweet talk me while I am angry with you, Dean."

"For fucks sake, what am I supposed to do, then?"

"Cursing will not work either."

Dean let out a frustrated shout and fell back so that he was lying on the bed, calloused hands rubbing over his face. Suddenly he sprang to his feet, marched to the door, and grabbed his jacket and keys. "You know what, fine, Cas. Just sit there and stew for all I care. It's a goddamn _burger_, man. Get the hell over it." And then he stormed out, slamming the door behind him.

For the first hour, Castiel did in fact 'just sit there and stew'. He was still as a statue, gaze trained unblinkingly on the fading, peeling motel wallpaper across the room, focusing all of his thoughts on how angry he was at Dean. But around the hour-and-five-minutes mark, he started to get worried. He had heard the Impala roar to life and tear out of the parking lot, so he knew Dean wasn't just waiting it out in the car. And who knew where the hunter had gone? Certainly not Castiel, because of the sigils carved into his ribcage. Sometimes Castiel really regretted putting them there.

Dean didn't pick up his phone the first time Castiel tried calling. Or the second. Or third. Or tenth. Eventually he just gave up and chucked the stupid piece of metal across the room. He leaned over and put his head in his hands, all hostility toward the hunter dissolved, but now he was disappointed in himself. He liked to pick fights with Dean over stupid things, and hold his ground and be irrational and moody, because they were never real fights, and they had the best, most passionate make-up sex afterward, and then they would both laugh about it together and move on. But this time was different, because Dean had actually left.

Castiel racked his brain for the most likely places for the hunter to be. All he could think of were bars, and it made his heart heavy. He knew that Dean would never cheat on him, but he didn't want any trashy hookers throwing themselves at his lover, and he also didn't want Dean to be drowning himself in alcohol, especially because Castiel would be the reason. But showing up unannounced to intervene would only irritate the hunter more, so he decided that the best thing he could do was just wait until Dean returned.

He waited, and waited, and waited – for a grand total of three hours and sixteen minutes – until finally there was the tell-tale sound of the key in the lock and the door swung open.

"Dean –" he started, jumping to his feet, but as soon as he saw what was coming through the door, he froze.

A luggage cart was being wheeled into the room, laden down with what looked like a hundred – maybe even more – brown bags with grease stains on the sides. Behind it came a second luggage cart, just as full of takeout bags. The sudden smell of hamburger was incredibly strong inside the small motel room, and Castiel took a step back, almost overwhelmed. Once the second cart had cleared the threshold, Castiel waited with bated breath, and then – there was Dean's head, poking in through the door, a boyish grin on his flushed face.

"So, I got your damn hamburger," the hunter started to say, green eyes twinkling, but he barely got to finish the sentence before his face was being smothered by a familiar pair of chapped lips, peppering kisses all over his skin, repeatedly pressing against his own lips. When Castiel finally pulled back breathlessly, Dean continued, "They're all just the way you like 'em. Cheeseburger with pickles, no onion."

"You..." Castiel kissed Dean again, this time drawing it out, sighing into it, tangling his fingers in the hair at the back of Dean's neck. "You are wonderful."

"I know," the hunter chuckled, pecking his angel on the nose. "Now eat up. Your burgers are gonna get cold."

Castiel practically skipped over to the first cart, diving into the burgers with vigor, moaning with delight as his favorite taste (besides Dean) danced on his tongue. Dean settled back on the bed and switched on the television to watch some crappy, late-night shows while his lover munched away on his dinner.

They did end up laughing about it and moving on, of course. And the make-up sex would have indeed been fantastic, if Castiel hadn't been full of some two-hundred-and-fifty-odd burgers that had been obtained from about twenty different fast food restaurants. Even angels can get that too-full-to-move feeling. So the hunter curled up with his angel on the bed, wrapping the blue-eyed man in his arms, glowing with pride at the content smile that he put on his lover's face.

And for the record, he never forgot Castiel's burger again.


End file.
